Miracle (36 page)

"Stop. Please stop," she wept, feeling like that child again, watching the two people she loved most in the world destroy one another.

"Cavisbrooke left the house, and
yer
mother followed him. I think she would'
ve
followed all the way to hell that night, and that night seemed like hell. All the
lightnin
' and thunder, the wind
howlin
' like a banshee,
drivin
' the rain so fierce it stung the eyes. I went after
yer
mother, for you, 'cause I knew the only thing that would bring
Lorraina
back was you. I finally come up on '
em
at Saint Catherine's. By then, it was all over.
Lorraina
lay dead at the bottom of the Undercliff, and Cavisbrooke stood there in the rain still as a stone, his face frozen in a look of terror. He said it was an accident, that
Lorraina
had slipped. I wanted to kill him with me bare hands, and would have, had it not been for you. All I could think of was you
waitin
' back at Cavisbrooke, alone. So I allowed the bastard to go on his way,
Mira,
on one condition. That he continue the financial support he'd provided for you and
yer
mother the last ten years. And he did, for a while, then the money stopped
comin
'. By then I was tired of the lies, tired of
ya
holdin
' on to the belief that the man loved
ya,
so I told
ya
he was dead."

She turned to face John. His visage looked ashen and tormented. He could not meet her eyes.

"I buried
Lorraina
at the foot of the Undercliff," he said, and his voice cracked. "So
ya
see,
Mira,
she
ain't
ever
comin'
back. You can stop
yer
dreamin
' and
believin
' in miracles."

"All lies," she said.

"Aye.
Ever'one
of them, lass."

"Is there anything else you'd like to confess?"

At last, he raised his eyes to hers. "I only did what I thought was best. You were my life,
Mira.
I loved you as
devotedly and deeply as
I . . .
loved
yer
mother . . . but the time has come for change. I want out,
Mira.
Away. I want a life of me own while I've still got a few years to enjoy it. I'll never have the opportunity unless
yer
gone from here and married."

"Oh, now you confess that I'm a burden? That I've ruined your life? That you actually
want
me gone?"

No reply.

Miracle turned and walked away, left the courtyard, ambled down one corridor after another, until finding herself in the piano room again. She flung back the sheet and, after a moment's hesitation, slid onto the dusty bench, ran her fingers over the keys, closed her eyes, and allowed her fingers to lightly touch the ivories, filling the chamber with the simple tune her mother had once taught her.

The two of them, sitting together on the bench,
Lorraina's
cool hands atop hers, stroking out the music, rewarding her with a hug and kiss when she finally got it right.

"Meri,"
Salterdon said from the door.

She looked up, regarded his tall form in the entry, then carefully placed the sheet across the instrument again and stood up.

He walked to her, into the light of the solitary candle. His face looked haggard.

"Sir," she said, "I've given your proposal some thought, and . . ."

"And?"

"I'll leave with you tomorrow, if you like."

"Yes, I'd like that very much," he replied in a thick voice and opened his arms.

After a second's hesitation, she slid into them, buried her face into his chest, and clung to him fiercely.

Whom we love best, to them we can say least.

Proverb

Chapter Fourteen

London

Miracle awoke feeling miserably stiff, cramped, and overheated. The immense noise outside the chaise seemed overwhelming, as were the smells of burning coal and sulfur and miscellaneous other unpleasant odors that made her feel unbearably ill.

Salterdon sat beside her, staring out the coach window, apparently lost in thought. He'd spoken little to her since they left Cavisbrooke—only the occasional chitchat as he provided her with what little information he thought necessary to alleviate her curiosity.

It struck her as she watched him, how little she really knew of him. What had his childhood been like? Like her, he had lost his parents at a young age, although he had mentioned a brother. He and his brother had been raised by the duchess of Salterdon, whom, Miracle supposed, she would be forced to meet very soon.

Miracle yawned, rubbed her eyes, and cleared her throat. Salterdon ignored her.

"Will she like me, do you think?" Miracle asked.

"Who?" he replied, still watching the activity out the window. How relaxed he appeared, spine conforming to the plush leather seat, long legs splayed slightly, and his body swaying with each jounce of the coach. Then again, this was
his
world. No doubt he'd found the quiet and isolation of her world as foreign.

"The duchess, of course."

His mouth curled in a derisive manner, and he laughed

shortly. "I doubt it," he replied. "But then, my dear grandmother likes very few people and tolerates even fewer. You'll get used to her eventually. You might even begin to like her, once you've forgiven her for her rather peculiar idiosyncrasies."

"Does she know about me?"

At last, he turned his head and looked at her. "No."

"Then I shall come as quite a surprise to her."

A look of thoughtful amusement came and went in his slate eyes. Then he became somber again. "She'll be livid at first. She will have had something else in mind for the mother of her great-grandchildren: someone all wrapped up in pretty ruches and lumbering about under the weight of jewels and affectation, not to mention her father's long and impressive list of titles. The duchess does love to crow, you understand. To her peers. There is an unspoken rule among my class that everyone outranking a clerk or tradesman should exhibit a form of pomposity over their much ballyhooed lineage. No one could possibly come close to rivaling the duchess's ability to boast."

Sidling closer, nestling against his arm, she smiled and said, "She sounds marvelous. I love a challenge."

"Of course you do,
Meri
Mine. You won me over, didn't you?"

She grew warm with pleasure. "Tell me more about your family."

"Must I?"

"Why do you avoid it?"

"Do I?" He grinned.

Miracle sat back and studied his profile. "Tell me about your brother. What's his name?"

He looked out the window again and frowned. "Clayton."

"Older or younger?"

"Younger."

"How much younger?"

"Not much."

"Are you close?"

"Unbearably so."

"I always wished for a brother."

"I can't imagine why."

"To champion me, of course."

"Champion? Most likely he would humiliate you publicly, despoil the family fortune, not to mention the
name . . .
Shall I go on?"

"What, pray tell, does your bother do to occupy himself, when he's not humiliating or despoiling you?"

"He . . . gambles; he's won and lost fortunes at
Crockford's
,
Roxborough's
, and Brooks. He simply cannot leave the green hazard table alone, despite his abhorrence of his fellow gamblers—a group of repugnant individuals who make a mockery of their well-born position in life; you'll meet them all, in time," he added with an air of contempt. "The out and outers, as they're called. The handsome, titled young men who are up to everything, down as a nail, a trump, a Trojan, snobs who can patter flash, floor a charley, mill a coal-heaver, come
coachey
in prime style up to every rig and row in London. They all will illuminate a nauseating disregard for the feelings of every man, woman, and child with whom they come in contact. That,
Meri
Mine, is the one true hallmark of the 'blood.' " He took a deep breath and slowly released it, clenched and unclenched his hands as they lay in his lap.

"My brother . . . is a liar," he confessed in a belligerent tone. "And he falls in love with women he has no right to fall in love with. He secludes himself in some falling down old country house and . . . broods because he's . . . lonely."

"Why is he lonely?" she asked softly.

"Because he's alone. Because he's amassed a fortune, succeeded in establishing one of the greatest homes in England, and has yet to fill it with wife and children." He shook his head. "Do you know he won't even live in the manse? Instead, he occupies some vine-covered carriage house out back of the stables—"

"Stables?"

He glanced at her. "Yes, stables. He shares our father's love of horses, you see."

The rise of hurt in her throat made Miracle sit back. "Tell me more," she pleaded, desperate to remove her mind from the horses she was forced to leave at Cavisbrooke. She didn't want to think of Napitov, and she didn't want to think of John or the fact that she had refused to see or speak to him again before leaving the isle.

Why did it feel as if her heart was breaking each time she thought of him? Why had her heart ached so to forgive him? After all the lies . . .

Salterdon watched her face for a long moment, then again focused on the activity outside the coach. "He's vowed that he won't live in the house until he finds the perfect woman to share it with. Mind you, I said perfect. Since restoration of the estate has been complete, he's paraded mistresses and/or lovers through its halls, thinking eventually he'll find one who suits the place . . . and him."

"But there are no perfect women," she pointed out.

"I'm not so sure about that,
Meri
Mine."